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by ink.and.petals
Summary: Tom/Sybil oneshot set the evening after Sir Anthony jilted Edith at the alter (S03 E03).


He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her like this.

Yes, yes he could. It was when that officer - Lieutenant Cortney, if he remembered rightly - had taken his life. A full year of driving her from the hospital back to Downton, and until that day, each time she'd been bursting with ' _you could see inside the leg, Branson! Right through the bone! It was truly marvellous!_ ' or ' _the poor man was in agony until we sorted him out, but they let me assist the surgery as a proper doctor would! Golly, it was fascinating!_ '. Yet on that day she was lost, lost in the blood and the screams and the tears. Lost in how she'd failed him.

It was Sybil, to Tom's surprise, who had requested Anna and Alfred leave them to tend to themselves tonight. She'd worded her request to Anna perfectly, reflecting the reasoning on Edith's sorrow and the servant's exhaustion rather than her own sadness. But of course, he saw through the glaze protecting her eyes so that no one might peak in and discover her sadness. He saw how shaken she was.

She had asked him to help her undress, which of course he had obliged, and as he did he witnessed her once tense body begin to relax. He unfastened her dress, and after he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. That, if only for a moment, had resulted in her smile. But once she settled against the pillows and he began to change, the glaze appeared again. Her only movement was her hand on her stomach, rubbing small circles across her belly.

"The baby keeps kicking,"

Her voice startled him, so much so his body jumped in surprise. She did not see his reaction, for her eyes were focused firmly on her stomach, almost as if she was staring through her flesh and right at the child inside.

Her voice tone was distant as she continued, "Kicking so hard it hurts. The poor thing's so stressed and I don't know how to calm it down."

This, he recognised, was her call for help. It was her way of saying she needed some assurance and love. And, as always, he was happy to give both.

He climbed underneath the blankets beside her so, as her hand rubbed her belly, her arm bumped against his.

"What calms you down?" he asked, this being the only suggestion he could offer. After all, he knew very little on the behaviours of an unborn child; that was Sybil's territory.

Her sigh drifted through the room and with her hand she took his and squeezed. He squeezed back, his eyes remaining on hers, although she refused eye contact.

"Talking things through with you usually does the trick," she said finally, offering him a glimpse of a smile.

Tom brought their joined hands to his lips and softly kissed her. This action caused Sybil to look at her husband, and he saw the glaze over her eyes slowly melt into tears she made no effort to conceal.

She began, "I wish we were in Dublin. During both of our visits here, I've been happy to be back, but after this... I feel..." she trailed off, pausing to allow herself to collect the words she required. He watched her intensely. "Before we were married, a short while before I accepted you, I felt as if I needed to escape. I needed freedom, and responsibility, and... I needed you, I still do. And since we've been married, even more so since the baby, I've felt fully content for the first time I can recall. I certainly experienced that whilst nursing in the war, but the idea, the possibility of you made that contentment not quite full."

Tom said nothing as his wife spoke, just listened, which, he knew, was all she wished him to do.

She explained, "Tonight I feel trapped in my own conflicting emotions, and I never thought I'd feel that again. And here I am getting upset, when poor Edith - "

"Love, there's nothing wrong with how you feel."

"Aside from Matthew and Mary's wedding, I've only spent a few weeks with my family after not seeing them for an entire year, yet..."

"You'd rather be in Dublin?"

She nodded, almost shamefully.

"Darling, you have no reason to feel guilt."

He lifted his arm around her shoulders, but it was she who leant her whole body into his, burrowing into his embrace and warmth.

"It's perfectly understandable." He assured her.

"I thought Downton would always be my home, but I don't think it is anymore."

Tom kissed the tip of her nose as she lifted her face. "Is that a bad thing?"

"My life's in Dublin now," she reasoned, the words to him, but the meaning to herself. "I love visiting here, but after tonight, I just want to go home. Golly, I sound so childish!"

"No you don't. We all crave somewhere we feel safe in times of upset."

"It's not so much safety, but... comfort, I suppose. Although I do it, I can't say I enjoy dressing for dinner and the small talk, let alone having Anna dress me twice a day. I like it when we eat dinner on the sofa because neither of us can be bothered to set the table; and when we spend practically all day in our pyjamas on Sundays and don't get out of bed until midday; and although Mrs. Patmore's a splendid cook, I can't say I'd choose cucumber sandwiches over Shepards pie; and the clothes here are so dreadfully heavy it makes walking normally even harder, not to mention all the stairs!"

They both chortled as she said this and he said, "I'd much rather be at home too, you know I would. I wonder how Aidan and Moira are getting on."

"Selling lots of books, I should think! Their bookshop is truly marvellous! I've missed them both. I wonder what Papa would say if he knew our closest friends were a shopkeeper and his wife."

"Considering you have a chauffeur for a husband..."

"A journalist for a husband. And a brilliant one at that."

Both of the young couple smiled through their kiss.

A sleepy silence fell upon them, but as the clock struck midnight Sybil picked up the conversation again. "Poor Edith. Her pain must be unimaginable. Her whole future gone in the blink of an eye."

"The future she thought she'd have, yes. But she's young. She'll find someone else."

"First Patrick, next P. Gordon, and now Sir Anthony. I shouldn't say she's had a great deal of luck when it comes to romance."

"Was Patrick the heir who was on the Titanic?"

"Yes, he was."

"And Gordon impersonated him?"

"We can't know if it was really Patrick or not. Edith believed him, but I can't say anyone else did."

"Perhaps Sir Anthony did the right thing."

Her body flew from his arms, her disgust reflected in her eyes. "How can you say that?"

"As your grandmother kept saying, Edith might have been happy in the short term, but eventually she'd grow restless."

"You don't know that,"

"One day a handsome young man would come along..."

"She loved him!"

"But would she forever?" He cupped her cheek in his palm. "I know it sounds harsh, but..."

"You think he was right to break her heart?"

"Of course not."

"It wasn't a recent thing. Edith wanted to marry him in 1914."

"She'll feel better in time."

"She shouldn't have to feel better - he should have married her."

"He shouldn't have let it get that far."

After a few beats of an uncomfortable silence he opened his arms, and she understood this was his way of acknowledging that they didn't agree but not wanting to argue about it. She accepted his offer of peace and sank into his embrace once again.

"We'll be all right, won't we?"

With the back of his fingers he stroked her protruding baby bump and answered, "We'll be fine."

"All three of us?"

"All three of us."

She took a deep breath, and she could smell the soap that he washed with. It wasn't sweet and soft as was the one she used, but instead it was strong and sharp, with a tang of something that she found herself describing as masculine. He used this not just here but in Dublin also, which at this time was a great comfort to her as all of her senses remind her of Tom, the only person that she currently wished to be with.

"Tom," she heard herself mumble.

"Go to sleep, darling."

She began to lift her head, but stopped once he started to run his fingers through her hair. "You won't be able to sleep sat up,"

"I've done it before,"

"But it can't be very comfortable..."

"Sybil," she smiled as he said this, for she loved it when he said her name. On his vivid accent but gentle voice her name sounded rhythmic and beautiful. "Are you comfortable?"

She allowed her head to fall back against his chest, and her smile remained as she whispered, "Very,"

"Has the baby settled?"

She ran her palm down the side of her swollen stomach before resting her hand on his forearm. "For the most part."

"Then, unless you want to talk more, goodnight, love."

Her sigh was content as he kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight."


End file.
